A thousand faces with a thousand different stories. Every time I walk through the streets, I notice the people who walk ahead of me and wonder about the stories they had lived. I watch the picture of their faces reflecting off store fronts and their (sometimes faked) smiles. Sometimes there is a sad face but sometimes the face that appears in the window is that of a child, sticky from a chocolate bar, with a genuine smile from ear to ear.

The faces in the street inspire me.

There’s the old lady with lines around her mouth and eyes that tell tales of her youthful days when she would laugh without restrain. Her eyes still sparkle with mirth almost as if her body grew old but her spirit remained young. She’s lived a thousand lives in her time. She has seen the biggest cities and the smallest towns. She’s even danced down the pier in a dress as red as the wine she sipped with her foreign lover.

Other times the faces in the street are a group of odd ball teenagers. Each with their own story. The blonde girl is a master baker. She has the most dazzling smile but her eyes tell of sorrows that aged her well beyond her years. Her friend with the glasses may look like a know-it-all but she’s repeated two years and would rather be dancing than studying. The two brooding boys (though scary looking in their black leathers) are true sweethearts. Always looking out for their friends and loyal to a fault. Together this group of friends are usually the first to offer their help to anyone in distress…

Yet, their appearances often define who they are long before anyone speaks to them.

These stories and the variety of faces that come with them always make me re-evaluate the way I see life. I’ve learnt to wonder if the homeless man on the street was once a student at a prestigious high school. I wonder if the old lady with the purple hair was once a fashion editor of a well known magazine or if the girl in the stilettos and business blazer was once an orphan who roamed the streets selling bits and bobs to try to get through the day with one piece of bread.

Growing up in a country like South Africa once your eyes are opened to possibilities, you realize that nothing is as it seems and no face tells the story you assume.

Trying to see beyond the faces in the street,

Brokebella